


Thicker than Water

by Quilljoy



Series: Empty Comforts [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Background Essek Thelyss, Caleb wants to let go, Dom/sub Undertones, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (mentioned), Fjord has control issues, Fjord/Avantika (mentioned), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Fjord (Critical Role), Post-Episode 69, Uk'otoa (uk'otoa)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilljoy/pseuds/Quilljoy
Summary: He hears the call, Fjord reasoned, it just isn’t the same call as I do. He wants out. In into something else, but this? He wants out. We’re not that different, he and I. There’s something he can’t die before accomplishing.After they leave Yasha behind, Fjord and Caleb are forced to trust each other. If only that were easy.





	Thicker than Water

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy it's me, back on my bullshit. You know what I like? Posting fanfiction that will become obsolete the same day :D  
> Happy CR day, everyone, enjoy some more widofjord from me 🌠with Fjord being extra gay, because fuck homophobes 🤸♂️

“What now?”

Caleb stopped halfway into the War Room.

If Fjord had any expectations about his return, he hid them under his scowl, hands pressed against the map and tension coiling in his shoulders. He leant against the table —eyes on Xhorhas’ contours instead of Caleb— and didn’t turn to watch Widogast.

Caleb peeled off his gloves and threw them over the map.

“Now, we wait.”

The rising sense of panic Fjord suppressed hadn’t diminished with Caleb’s arrival. It should’ve eased his most base worries —that Caleb would never come back, that it’d be up to him, then, that they’d just given up their most competent member to the Dynasty— but like a rush of water it still filled his ears with white noise, his mind empty but for the will to survive. 

Xhorhas stared back at him, lines in parchment. The spots where the Abyss poured into their world were ink— devoid of even that, someplaces. Fjord traced the path from Bazzoxan to Rosohna. Crossing through the Barbed Fields, pushing their moorbounders past their limits, not pausing to eat or rest but for the necessary, they had still taken three excruciating days. How long would the door keep the Laughing Hand caged? How much time did they actually have?

The Lucidian Ocean called back to him. It’d have been so  _ easy _ . The blighted Queen should deal with her problems herself; Fjord knew what he wanted, and he wanted  _ out _ . Yasha could follow them to the sea for all he cared.

He looked up, at last, drawing his arms back and crossing them over his chest to disguise any emotion that dared cross his features. His eyes met Caleb’s.

“We  _ wait _ ? Are you kidding me?”

He had the tousled hair and the flushed cheeks of someone who had ran there, but the rest of his appearance was impeccable, a far cry from the rest of them — distant, even, from the look he had when he’d left for the Bright Queen’s hall. He shrugged, and god, Fjord hated leaving their fates in someone else’s hands, however capable they were.

“I ran everything by Essek. Well.” Caleb clicked his tongue. Fjord could only hope his actual speech had been as calculated. “Not everything, no. I left out our carelessness, and the fact that Oban knew Yasha. He shall speak favorably of us to the Bright Queen. We will just have to wait on her decision.”

“I know something or two about drowning, Caleb. There’s a  _ lot  _ of waiting before the air finally runs out.”

This whole mess they had gotten into wasn’t just  _ sinking _ . They had plunged headfirst into the depths of an unknown ocean, and now they were paying for it.

“You aren’t wrong.” Caleb stepped closer. Like a dance, Fjord moved away from the table, inviting him to pour over the map with an air of curiosity. His eyes devoured the information in front of him, and Fjord felt exposed, somehow, as if Caleb would stare at the blue expanse and just know what he’d been thinking. “It’s good. To be practical, that is. We are on borrowed time.”

His fingers ran down the map. Not the path Fjord had been tracing. Caleb brushed his thumb against the Dwendalian Empire’s name, seemingly upset that it wasn’t enough to fade the ink or its borders. Fjord, who’d been holding his breath as if in a nightmare, finally released it and filled his lungs with fresh air.  _ He hears the call,  _ Fjord reasoned, _ it just isn’t the same call as I do. He wants out. In into something else, but this? He wants out. We’re not that different, he and I. There’s something he can’t die before accomplishing.  _

“If it helps, I don’t think our favor is entirely lost, and I don’t think we’ll have to face anything —or anyone— on our own.” Caleb squeezed his healing shoulder. It hurt, but the pain grounded him when otherwise his mind would’ve been adrift. 

“I guess the fact you came back means we’re not totally screwed,” Fjord relented. That earned him an amused chuckle.

“I suppose.”

“You didn’t arrive with reinforcements, so— Wait. There aren’t guards waiting for us outside, are there?”

“Not today, no.”

“No guards, no jail for us. That’s, that’s good. For now.”

“Let’s count our blessings, shall we?”

Fjord offered him a tentative smile. 

“Thanks for coming here straight away. It’s late.” He gestured towards the half-open door. “Looks like there’s a full day ahead of us tomorrow, uh? You heading down?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I want to go over this map with you again.” Warmth ebbed away from his naked hands, and Caleb rubbed them together, trapping the heat. His gloves had been too fine to be worth for anything other than appearances. “I ran across some new information about that temple and the wards placed to keep the Laughing Hand trapped. I’d like to recalculate the time we have.”

“Wards? Surely not the ones we destroyed, right?”

“There were more protections than our eyes met. The magic is…” 

A gesture Fjord couldn’t begin to comprehend drew light in the air. Caleb called that a somatic component. Fjord called it being a fucking wizard.

“Complicated, yeah. No shit.”

“I don’t mind if you want to head off to your room. I can actually do this on my own.”

“I’ll just, uh, stay over here.” Jester had convinced them to order some leather couches for the War Room. Fjord dragged himself to one and attempted to find some way his armor wouldn’t dig into his flesh once he sank in it. “This way, you can tell me the good news when you’re done. And I don’t have to get involved in any calculations.”  _ Or sleep,  _ he added mentally.

“Not big on math, for a pirate.”

“Hey, there’s a reason why you were my navigator.”

It felt like some well-deserved normalcy at last when Caleb smiled to himself. He grinned like a cat, self satisfied at his own goddamn intellect, and it was just as well. If it saved them, Fjord wouldn’t complain. He was content to let him work out the boring specifics, as long as, when push came to shove, he was asked his fucking opinion about it. Not that Caleb didn’t take smart decisions on his own— hell, Caleb had been smart enough to whip out the dodecahedron and trust the Kryn not to murder them all. He just hadn’t trusted them, his  _ team _ , and damn if Fjord didn’t feel like he deserved the same trust Caleb had shown in spades for the drow. The exact same benefit of doubt he’d given them once more to ditch the Nein and look for help in Shadowhand Essek. 

Fjord contemplated his palm as Caleb went about working. 

_ He didn’t trust you, _ a part of him that sounded suspiciously like Uk’otoa said. _ His captain. And I think you remember what mutiny feels like. _

( _ This was agreed upon. With me and with Beau. It was our choice, so shove it, asshole,  _ he thought back, harder. Was he falling asleep? His head got muddled when sleep came. Foreign thoughts mingled with his own. He could not recall whose ideas they were— Uk’otoa’s, Vandren’s or Sabian’s. Maybe it was no one’s mind but his own, and he was the exact kind of person others thought he was.)

“How did you manage it, by the way?” He broke the silence before it broke him. Behind his lids, his eyes were heavy. Like his limbs. How long since he’d last slept well?

Melora hadn’t been able to spare her favor those last few nights. Try as he might, Fjord had been so done with things entirely. He hadn’t been able to make the effort. Even sleeping had become a chore. 

“Manage what?”

“The details. Did you finally get access to the library?”

He wished Caleb hadn’t been so engrossed over his work. Scratch that. Caleb ought to be engrossed, it was their lives at stake there. He wished there was something he could do to help. (He wished the Nein would let him help. Drag them to the ocean. If only he asked. Melora could spare him her favor some nights, but Uk’otoa had given him a gift, if only he was strong enough to use.)

“Oh. Ja. After what I told him, Essek considered it a necessity.”

“Guess he isn’t all that, if he’s got to rely on you to do his job.”

Did it even matter? If he let him, Caleb would spend all the time they had until the Laughing Hand arrived thinking about how long they had until the Laughing Hand arrived. It was just time. Knowing how long they had wouldn’t do much to help. The monster was approaching. They already knew that. What they didn’t know was if the Bright Queen would support them.

“All the better for us.”

“I’m not dissing on you. Only... It doesn’t make me feel any good about this.” Sweat made his hair stick to the back of his neck. Fjord slicked a couple of loose strands back and tucked them behind his ear. He missed the ocean breeze. Here, in the depths of the continent, the air was stuffy. Fjord didn’t like that, looking outside and seeing nothing but darkness. “I don’t have to like it, I know. But still.”

Of all things, this is what bothered Caleb enough for him to turn away from his equations. He’d been standing, not caring to sit down for comfort, almost as if glancing at the map before circling the table made him think better. Didn’t ennerve Fjord, not a bit, when he faced another kind of unrest entirely.

“An alliance is not to be frowned upon,” he said, rather gently. 

Fjord breathed in and forced his sore muscles to relax. With one elbow on the armrest, hand supporting his head, he looked at Caleb. Truly looked at him, ever since he’d entered the room. He’d changed. They all had changed, but ever since leaving the Empire, there was something else to him. Fjord just wasn’t sure if the dirt and grime had been Caleb’s disguise before, or if his new leather boots and coat were just another sort of mask. 

“You remember when you told me Avantika would kill me?”

“Of course.”

“You were right, back then. I knew you were right, of course. There was power in knowledge, on…” He sought the word. “Not being fooled. Was that your fear back then?”

Still facing him, Caleb leaned back against the table, crossing one leg over the other.

“No. I feared she’d tempt you. Into releasing Uk’otoa… Thoroughly ironic, in retrospect.” Caleb muttered under his breath, lips curving into a self-loathing smile. “Are you getting at something, Fjord?”

“Yeah.”

Better make it quick, then, his expression said. 

Fjord stared at him.

“Do you know if the Shadowhand wants you dead?”

In his defense, Caleb didn’t look halfway as embarrassed as he ought to. For both of their sakes, he didn’t even pretend. Caleb just chewed on his bottom lip.

“If he wanted  _ any _ of us dead, I wouldn’t be here now, would I? No.” He looked away. “I suspect he simply enjoys my company.”

“This dunamancy shit he’s teaching you. Is it real?”

“Naturally. You’ve seen it work.”

“Could it be used against you? I mean, the fact that now you know some of it. Could they twist your knowledge to their favor? Or—” Fjord couldn’t help but frown. He’d leant forward, his grip on the chair tightening. “Rebuke a spell you thought you knew. Make it into something else.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t  _ think _ so?”

They had walked into a ruined temple. They’d peered into the Abyss, they’d let  _ something  _ walk out free of it. Out of everything, Fjord’s accusation was the thing that had robbed Caleb of the color in his face.

“Objectively, it could be used against me. I can’t say with a hundred percent certainty that it’s impossible. But I studied it, Fjord. I’m not familiar with the language nor its rules, but logic is common to every sort of magic.”

“Not my magic.”

“Not your magic, no.”

Silence fell around them. Whatever Fjord had been feeling, it stirred in his belly, not quite simmering, the fire only hot as embers. Once Caleb assumed he’d said everything he ought, he adjusted himself, intent on turning back to his calculations. It made Fjord wonder, that’s all. 

“Did you sleep with him?”

“I fear it’s none of your business.”

“Says the man who spied on me. Come on, Caleb. I’m not doing this to fuck with you, I’m just tired of thinking about tomorrow, that’s all. The Queen, the Dynasty. They can go to hell, for all I care— and hey, don’t tell them I said that, but they probably will. Just entertain me for a sec, will you?”

“I’m not highly entertaining,” he spat out— and there was a bite to it. Fjord was unsure if it was caused by Fjord’s curiosity, or his newfound political acumen. In a broad sense, Fjord was against evil, fiends, and whatever the hell that thing with the mouths was. He didn’t want innocent people to die. He just didn’t want to die, either, at least not for someone as shady as the Bright Queen herself. Not before he found Vandren, and not before he confronted Sabian.

“More entertaining than staying up and calculating how long we have until we’re dead.” Fjord closed his eyes. He crossed his arms behind his head and leant back. 

“We are not going to die.”

“When you put it like that, I almost believe you.”

_ (He wondered what Caleb was waiting on, before he allowed himself to get killed.) _

“I’ll do everything in my power for us not to die.”

“I know.” 

“Then let me do my job.”

Sighing, Fjord let him, for the moment, not caring to argue. 

He must’ve dozed off.

Familiar depths welcomed him in his dreams, this feeble construction more intimate than any house or ship he’d ever know. He knew it was home. The salt in his mouth and the wetness of his skin told him so. He was a sailor, after all. There was only one place for him to go.

Fjord wasn’t afraid of the pinch of the air leaving his lungs. Drowning took infinitely long and it was impossibly fast, and if he let himself go, in no time his blood would be rushing cold and he’d drift on in, no more to trouble his mind. No Queen. No Dynasty nor Empire, no Vandren nor Sabian or Yasha. He’d float in empty darkness. 

It was the serpent that he was afraid of.

It had to be staring at him— it always was. Fjord felt its eyes, gnawing at his back. It had no mouth, but it laughed with Avantika’s. Closing his eyes made no difference. Fjord choked, and when he gasped for air, the water rushed in.

His eyes shot open.

The darkness outside the window disoriented him when he rose up, attempting to figure out how long had passed, and Fjord had to reach for the couch to keep himself upright. A nighttime chill crept from the outside.

“Are you alright?”

Caleb was waiting for him when he turned back to the room. Fjord rubbed the sleep away from his eyes.

“How long has it been?”

Papers were scattered over the table. There were a couple of books that hadn’t been there before; leather-bound and blank pages, some filled with scribbles that simply stopped out of nowhere, as if the hand that had been drawing on them found another thing to be of interest. Their map was now filled with mysterious symbols. A few spots were marked with pins, and red thread had been wrapped across it, determining distances, sizes, shapes.

Overall, it looked like the work of a madman. Caleb must’ve been in a frenzy.

“Not nearly enough. Sit down.” He pushed a hand against his chest, and Fjord obeyed. “I think I bought us some time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s alright. I’ve been studying this… creature. I think I have a fairly good idea of where the Laughing Hand might go next, and how long it’ll take to get there. Or anywhere it longs to go, really. With Yasha slowing it down, I doubt it’ll cross the Barbed Fields. And the fiend, Oban. I suspect we did not see the last of him.”

“Great news.”

“Yes.” The irony was lost on him. “I’ve been fairly through. Whatever happens at court tomorrow, I believe the Bright Queen will find it useful.”

“Let’s hope she just doesn’t take your work and kill us all.”

“Ja. Yes. Let’s hope we’re more useful alive than we are dead.”

Fjord didn’t voice his doubts. Caleb was too smart for his own good. Likely he had the probability of their deaths calculated down to a decimal. By the look on his face, their odds were worrying.

Laughter bubbled in his throat. His wizard frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Last time he’d seen Caleb like that, he’d spent the night deciphering Avantika’s journal. “Everything.” 

It felt good, watching Caleb and finding him puzzled. There wasn’t a lot that confounded him. Fjord shook his head and pushed himself off of the couch, his dizziness prompting Caleb into helping. A steady hand held him up.

“Come on, I want to show you something.” His fingers found purchase on the panels of his armor. They were still trembling, so untying the straps became a chore, made even more difficult for the dull ache in his left shoulder. “Help me take this damn thing off.” 

Caleb helped, he suspected, more out of a sense of concern than any curiosity. The scar glared back at him once he was done and Fjord’s breastplate was on the floor.

Yasha would’ve cut him neatly in half, had it not been the orcish blood in him. An angry, reddish line carved his torso, from the top of his left shoulder to his right hip. In spite of Jester’s and Caduceus’ help, the wound had been deep enough not to heal completely, and the Magician’s Judge had, in all appearances, judged him magic enough. The scar tissue there was thick and ugly, and Fjord hadn’t welcomed him to it, but Caleb raised his hand and touched it, all the same. 

All the worse were the scratch marks on his arms, where the Laughing Hand had gripped him. Those were branded on him like burns. 

"Why are you showing me this?" 

"I nearly died, Widogast."

"We all have nearly died. More than once," he said somberly. Well. Caleb might've been used to the certainty of death, no armor to protect him, but Fjord wasn't so accustomed. 

"What I mean is — I was ready to, you know. When Yasha didn't come with me. When that thing took me in its hands. I thought, well, shit. That's what's in for Uk'otoa's chosen? After all that trouble he went to go and give me the falchion! Well, someone's gonna be disappointed."

There was no laughter, like he expected. 

"Don't look cross. I'm getting there. The point is. The point is. If it weren't for you Caleb, for you or for Beau, I would be gone. Mostly her than you, but you know. That Wall of Fire is coming on hand. You saved my ass there. More than once."

"You've already thanked me." Was that a flush spreading over the bridge of his nose? "If it matters, you've also saved me a number of times."

"I trust you, Caleb. We're probably gonna die, but if there's someone who can do something about that, it's you."

Color spread over his cheeks. It was kinda cute, in a way that any man grown who could blush like that was kinda cute. Widogast was perfectly aware of his skill and knowledge, and hell, he wasn't that modest about any of that, either. But he looked both troubled and pleased with Fjord, like he couldn't have possibly predicted this outcome, yet out of the possibilities, this wasn't the worst. 

“Ja, okay.” His gaze flew to the table. Caleb dried his palms against his thighs. “I think I’m done for the night. I was only waiting to… I wanted to rely the news.”

“Guess that’s in for the night, then.” Deep breaths, deep breaths. “Whatever tomorrow brings will be it.”

“Ja.” They stood still; Fjord facing Caleb and Caleb, the door. He sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. I know I should. In case we need my magic tomorrow. But I’m not entirely tapped out, so...”

“Hey. Hey, that’s alright.” His hand found Caleb’s wrist. “We don’t need your magic when we have your brain.” 

“If you keep complimenting me,” he said, looking back to Fjord in spurr, “I’ll start thinking you want something.”

Fjord blinked a couple of times.

“But I do.”

“What?”

The question was so fast; Fjord had barely finished talking. It explained... a lot. Not everything about Caleb, no, but just enough. Explained him and Avantika, explained Essek, and the Bright Queen. No compliment unearned and nothing gained for free in Caleb’s land, he figured, which was a sad thing as it got. Fjord would’ve understood more of it, were not for Vandren. It sucked that Caleb hadn’t had someone like that in his life.

Fjord traced circles on Caleb’s wrist, but he didn’t pull away. Tension brewed in his eyes. Blue, Fjord thought, briefly. Not like the ocean, but like the sky above on a sunny day.

“Trust me.”

A frown. Caleb’s lips, which had been pressed tightly, opened as if to ask a question, but no sound escaped, and he shut his mouth again, biting on the bottom of his lip and interrogating Fjord with his gaze only. 

“Trust me. Like I trust you to keep our group safe. To keep  _ me _ safe.”

“I—”

“No pact this time. No shaking hands on it. This is what I want from you, Caleb.” Maybe something else, yes, maybe some other day, if they lived for it. If Caleb ever looked for it in him without seeing something (someone) else. 

Conflict marred his every feature. Fjord could almost see himself reflected in that face. How fucking hard was for Caleb to give in to it, to relax, to not make an enemy or an ally of a friend. But he was getting better— hell, the two of them were getting better at it. Someday, he’d accept the charm that had been imposed on Yasha, if that was even the truth. Someday, he’d not see Sabian in the steps of everyone who thought they could betray him. 

(Someday, he’d stop talking like Vandren. Someday.)

“I’m not looking to hurt you. I’m not screwing you out of your own decisions.”

“We aren’t on a ship anymore,” Caleb said, at last, eyes shifting away and nervous, his accent bleeding and slurring his words, ship sounding like schiff, elongated and elegant in his voice. He didn’t yank his arm back. God, he was running away with his stare, but he wasn’t moving. “You are not my— our captain. Not even with your faith in me— This is something that can’t be bought.”

“Only earned.” Fjord nodded. Caleb took his free hand and brought it to cover Fjord’s, above his wrist. “I know it can be hard. I do some shit from time to time. I still have my own secrets.”

“As I have mine. I… Understand. We do understand each other.” He smiled a pained smile, finally turning his eyes to Fjord, blue and beautiful. “I’ll try.”

Fjord released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Good.” He said. He let go of Caleb’s hand. “Good.”

Out of a foreign sense of privacy, he looked away, the moment he saw Caleb touching his own wrist, where Fjord had held him. The lost look in the face of someone who used to be so sure excited and disconcerted Fjord, as if he’d been spying on something private. Even the air around them held still. 

“Fjord,” Caleb called out to him, small and sweet. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“It’s alright, Cay. It’s alright. You already did what you could.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It will have to be.” A beat. “We’re all uncertain, sometimes.”

“I don’t like it.” 

“So let me share this burden with you.”

Fjord turned back and, sure, it was the smallest of nods, but Caleb agreed with him, all the same, not daring look back, still stiff and lost, but… trusting, at last. Small victories. 

“You don’t need to sleep if you don’t feel like it. You know that I won’t.” He shrugged, and looked back to the couch. 

“What should I do, then?”

“Go downstairs. Be with your books, be with Frumpkin. Do you have anything new to read?” Fjord stopped Caleb before he could gesture towards the war table, where there were pages marked and stories untold, books which Caleb had not read in their fullness in his quest for answers. “No, something nice. A romance. Or an adventure.”

“There’s… I suppose I could borrow one of Jester’s.”

“Yeah, hide it in your library afterwards, she’s gonna like that,” Fjord grinned. His tusks had always scared others when he did that, yet for some reason, Caleb’s expression softened.

“Is that an order?”

“Of course.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

“Good night, Caleb. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Fjord. I. Thank you.”

His words were said in a hurry, as he twisted on his heels and made his way back, as if ashamed of something so simple. Caleb was halfway out of the door when he stopped himself on his tracks, however.

“And Fjord.”

“What?”

“Put on your shirt. We could use your help tomorrow without you catching a cold.”

This time, it was Fjord’s turn to turn red, but Caleb had already left, closing the door behind him and leaving Fjord alone and, well. 

Awake.

Whatever the hell happened on the morrow, Fjord sure as hell hoped they both made out alive. It would be a damn shame not to see Caleb like that anymore.


End file.
